Category Archives: cinema

Matthew 27:11-31 is loaded with drama. Jesus stands silently before Pontius Pilate – both men are under judgement.

Where will the gavel fall in favor – maintenance of the status quo, control and order; or the brazen, divergent reign of the Prince of Peace, a reign that is not of the current scheme of things?

Divergent is the title of a freshly released movie set in a dystopian post apocalyptic future. The cohesion and security of the city is assured by dividing its citizens into factions, according to temperament and related tasks. Those who don’t fit any of the nominated categories are deemed divergent and dangerous, and are either marginalised or disposed of. Themes in the screenplay seem sometimes in close parallel with the drama unfolding on Pilate’s podium. For example it is interesting that the faction marked by “selflessness” is deemed the most threatening by two of the more powerful blocs.

Pilate’s message is “Conform, submit, play by our rules.”
Jesus’ response is silence. Pilate’s demand cannot contain the wholesome reality of the reign of heart and mind that Jesus represents and envisions.

Pilate attempts first to neutralise and marginalise Jesus by offering the release of Barabbas in his place. This tactic fails, and Pilate hands Jesus over for execution.

Cummeragunja Mission has an esteemed place in Australian Churches of Christ history. It was the place of birth and nurture of Sir Pastor Doug Nicholls, an eminent Aboriginal reformer and church leader and, eventually, State Governor of South Australia. Cummeragunja was also a byword for the dire conditions which led to the walkout and strike that was one of several harbingers of Aboriginal activism towards fair treatment and human rights, and that thrust Pastor Doug to the fore in such matters.

The mission forms the background for the Cummeragunja Songbirds, three sisters and a cousin,who, growing up on the mission singing Country & Western, eventually find themselves as The Sapphires, singing soul and rhythm and blues to Vietnam troops. The personal struggles of relationships, institutionalised racism and the legacy of the stolen generations is gently woven into the story – but it is the exuberance of soul music that dominates – the journey from country and western “that is all about loss” to soul “that is also about loss, but more the struggle to emerge stronger”‘ (in the similar words of their manager and mentor, who is also on his own quest for meaning.)

The beauty in the strength of the dominating but vulnerable older sister, the joie de vivre of her next sibling, the defiance and masterful voice of the youngest, and the struggle to identify that marks the path of the reunited cousin makes for plenty of drama within the quartet as well as beyond. There is much in this movie to appreciate, from the sheer enjoyment of the music, to the drama of intra-family struggle, to the sheer nostalgia of re-engaging with the issues of the sixties.

A wealthy sheikh decides on a visionary project that would be of benefit to his people (not to mention front door access to his favourite British sport). Having already built a dam for irrigation, he would now like to stock it with salmon for fly fishing. Money is no obstacle, only the initial stubbornness of a narrowly fixated scientist who is maneuvered into heading the project by a government desperate for a good news story from the Middle East. Throw in a dying marriage, an attractive entrepreneur, and a hint of the current debate between faith and science – mix with the peculiar British penchant for understated comedy, and we have 90 minutes of great entertainment and good story telling. I enjoyed it immensely.

As long suffering readers of this blog may know, I am fascinated with synchronicities (aka “co-incidences”), so off I hied myself to see “A Dangerous Method“, a movie on the early professional life of the guru of synchronicity, Dr Carl Jung. I found the movie somewhat dis-satisfying, although I appreciated the exploration of his relationship with Professor Sigmund Freud, beginning with mutual admiration and the possibility of the passing on of a mantle in the fledgling field of psychotherapy, but ending in bitter acrimony. Freud’s inflexible, dogmatic and narrow theory of human problems originating in sexual repression cut no ice with the more mystical and open-minded (albeit disciplined) methods of Jung. Movies have to sell, especially when dealing with such dry and rarified topics as this), so much focus was on the vexed sexual relationship between Jung and his troubled patient (eventually intern), Sabina Spielrein. This gave scope to some nodding references to transference and counter-transference, one of Jung’s more widely accepted gifts to the helping professions. His work on individuation and archetypes found mature form later in his life’s work, and was perhaps beyond the scope of this film.

The references to synchronicity were a little contrived and overdone, but having my awareness raised, I could not help but wonder at events that unfolded during the rest of my day. Having attended later in the evening the opening of the annual Stations of the Cross art exhibition at Wesley Church in the City, I took an alternative route on foot to where my car was parked, even stopping to grab a bite to eat earlier than I might have. Passing the Town Hall, I heard the familiar voice of a well known Noongar elder addressing a crowd gathered in the foyer. I stopped and went in. It was the opening of a photographic exhibition sponsored by the Wilderness Society in support of their campaign against the Woodside gas hub that conflicts with indigenous heritage and cultural interests. Some would go as far as to say that big business and economic expediency is “crucifying” again the interests of the original inhabitants of the land. Was it synchronicity that I should be arrested by a familiar voice to have my attention drawn to a topic of which I have more than a passing awareness following a contemplative experience of some artistic expression of the spiritual centre of my faith?

I succumbed and took in “The Hunger Games” at the local multiplex – a greybeard amongst herds of youth.

The screenplay is the first of several based on a popular teenage trilogy surpassing, it is trumpeted, the Harry Potter and Twilight series. Eschewing magic tricks and supernatural themes, it paints a picture of a post-apocalyptic dystopian future where the dominant population relies for its cohesion and control on the scapegoating of 12-18 year olds from its surrounding subjugated districts (the ancient story of Theseus lives again). The ability to spiel this as “reality show” entertainment keeps the masses hypnotised and subjugated. This futuristic merging of “Gladiator” and “The Truman Show” with its promise of raising unknowns to celebrity status, even though only one out of each season’s 24 will survive, touches on the angst and ambivalence torn between skepticism and idealism that is the ubiquitous mark of adolescence of any generation.

Renee Girard’s ground breaking work on “mimetic theory” came to mind. At the risk of over simplifying his work, his anthropological studies reveal a universal pattern of societies maintaining stability and cohesion through vicarious scapegoating mechanisms. This effectively deals with societies’ inherent violence by using a sacrificial victim as a lightning rod upon which our aggression can be projected. Hence, in just one respect, the sacred and solemn nature of war memorial celebrations and the feting of national heroes.

In “The Hunger Games” when a tribute falls, the crowds gathered around the giant TV screens stand and show respect by raising their arms in a three fingered salute. When some of the competitors salute each other in this way, the games masters are disquieted. This is not how the game is supposed to be played. Subversion of mimetic theory is possible and demonstrated.

What startled me however, was a poignant moment in the screenplay (concerning the character Rue) where the teenagers around me rose as one and offered the three fingered salute. For them, something in this story touched and involved them deeply.

I’m not certain if the device of the salute was intentionally linked to a style of genuflection practiced by the early Christians, where the position of the three fingers is similar to that which begins the sign of the cross.

It is Renee Girard’s contention that the story of the voluntary sacrifice of Jesus on a cross and his subsequent raising up unveils, subverts and renders society’s propensity for scapegoating powerless. Girard offers an alternative understanding for the role that the cross plays in the Christian story. Jesus taught and demonstrated a way of life that subverted the powers to the extent they needed to silence him. He submitted to his public and humiliating crucifixion. He was raised and his continuing life in his followers exposed the inadequacy and inferiority of society’s violent systems of control. A new way forward was revealed.

Is the Hunger Games a parable for a similar message? Is this why it resonated so emphatically with my cinematic companions?

The twin cinematic retrospectives on the careers of Hoover and Thatcher, both notorious conservatives that packed a lot of clout in recent Western history, invite this question. Today’s article at Eureka Street, Humanising Hoover and Thatcher – Eureka Street, takes rather a dim view of the practice.

I wonder though. As one privileged to work across a wide spectrum of the community, embracing idealists from the extremes of both the right and the left (and all the places in between), I consider it important to contemplate the human element that we all share. Heaven forbid – it might give rise to compassion for those who have committed the inexcusable! Well, compassion springs from knowledge, knowledge leads to understanding, understanding leads to constructive dialogue for improvement.

Maybe if we saw the human in each other rather than competing ideologies we may be able to deal more effectively with some of the contemporary challenges confronting us.

How successfully these two cinematic efforts achieve the task of putting flesh and bone on these historic figures is another matter. However, I do not question the desire.

Some have criticised this film because of an “undue focus” of the Thatcher years through her latter life dementia. I thought it aptly portrayed how ardent idealism (whether it be on the conservative or revolutionary side of politics) can alienate ourselves not only from those closest to us, but ultimately from ourselves. It cast a highly personal light on the political touchpoints of the Thatcher rule – the mine closures, general strikes, IRA bombings, the Falkland Islands, the Reagan connection and the end of the Cold War. Regardless of whether Margaret Thatcher engaged or enraged you, the screenplay and brilliant characterisation by Meryl Streep made it difficult not to empathise with elderly private citizen Dame Margaret Thatcher coming to terms with her personal losses, while at the same time pondering the legacy of her political reign. Born into a grocer’s family, she wanted to make a difference, to show that anyone can make the changes they see as important through hard work and no compromise. Absolute principles ruled the day even at the cost of relationship. There are poignant moments in the screenplay where this is made abundantly clear, but why would I spoil the movie if you are yet to see it?

Couple’s choice tonight – and we agreed on this one as ‘The Iron Lady’ was booked out.

It has something for everyone – animals for the kids, teenage angst for the tweeners, and romance with lots of silent, knowing exchanges between the star turns. I desperately looked for something deep and meaningful but in the end, I just sat back and enjoyed my wife’s enjoyment of it.

I wondered whether there was an attempt to redress recent bad press for private zoos in the United States. There were some strategically placed messages about animal conservation and welfare practices – and the end credits acknowledged the animal sanctuary upon which the story line was based.

My overall rating – enjoyable, light and somewhat schmaltzy – two and a half stars out of five!

Free spirit that I am, I took some time out for a cinema fix after a busy week. Mrs WP was otherwise occupied, so it was a lone choice, and it boiled down to either The Iron Ladyor The Ides of March. What a dilemma! Both portray political dramas and the machinations behind the scenes – the first focused on the conservative Thatcher years in ’70s Britain and the second on a fictional but contemporary Democrat campaign in Ohio, apparently a benchmark state in the primaries for presidential election.

Because of the currency of the 2012 USA elections, I chose The Ides of March, hoping to gain some insight to the mysteries of the USA election system. I confess I remain as mystified as ever, and perhaps in Pollyannish naivety, wonder if the cynicism and duplicity in which the plot is soaked was used for dramatic effect or, reverting to my nay-saying shadow side, fighting the evidence that often shouts at us on a daily basis, “Yep, that’s the way it is.” Pragmatism usurps loyalty; expediency trumps ideals, political survival smothers ethics, both personal and public.

Mrs Wondering Pilgrim and I are just back from a night out at the local multiplex. With a birthday just around the corner, we thought it a good idea to use a Gold Class gift voucher and enjoy some special cuisine while we luxuriated in some plush recliners.

With this sort of setup, one selects the movie very carefully – and what better offering than Midnight in Paris. Forget the storyline for a moment. Just breathe in the bon vivant atmosphere that floats off the screen as you are immersed in Parisien streetscapes and partake in the cafe scene of eras now and bye-gone – not so difficult as your own waiter serves up decadent delights while you watch.

The movie is vintage Woody Allen – a comedy borne of the sadness of something not quite right or missing. In this instance, Owen Wilson plays a Hollywood scriptwriter who dreams of publishing his first novel. (Hello all you NaNoWriMo athletes out there!). He is in Paris with his fiancee and prospective in-laws whose agendas are at variance with his dream – a dream that sees his nocturnal walks time-warp into the night-life Paris of the 1920s. There he encounters the lives and loves of such literary and artistic giants as Ernest Hemingway, Picasso,Salvador Dali and others. You don’t have to be au fait with their work to enjoy the exchanges and the conflict that the protagonist finds himself in as he moves backwards and forwards from the demands of the modern era to the romance of what he understands as a Parisien Golden Age. A turn of events and an unlikely romance brings clarity – nostalgia has its place, but needs something more tangible to fulfill the promise it seems to offer. We were not left with unfulfilling angst, but with a note of promise alighting from “an insight of a minor nature” (to quote our self-effacing hero).